The Climb

Summary:

You don't need help, you don't want help. You're sick of life, and you're trying to off yourself. Sucks that some real monsters are gonna do their damndest to change your mind. Heavy trigger warning, for future use.

Notes:

Chapter Text

You have to get away. You have to.
You've endured this shit for too long; been brought down by others so much..
You've started to bring yourself down.

Not that anyone needs to know that.

What is wrong with your life? You have a family. You have food. Clothes. A place to stay with your grandmother. But.. the bond of trust has been shattered, long.. long ago.. you're just not ready to forgive them; even though you desperately want to you just can't forgive.. the ones who've let you down. The ones you thought you could count on. Who would let that happen to a little girl-

No. Not again. Stop.

But it was so easy to think how you've been corrupted-

STOP

"Ow, FUCK!" Holding your hand close to your chest; you had slipped and bent your wrist at an unnatural angle when your footing went on some loose gravel.
You look it over. It's not cut, and the pain is already fading.. it isn't sprained then.
And if it isn't sprained, you can keep going.

Faster.

'I can't let them catch up to me..Are they even following me? This is..'
You stumble.

Faster.

'This is impossible! Fuck!!' You think to yourself.

'At least it's not raining.. It's just cold and dark and I hate the outdoors at night. No, I'm not afraid. I just hate-' you loose footing.

Falling.

You hit the path and start slipping towards a decline, scrabbling at anything to stop yourself from tumbling closer and closer to the edge.. you spot..

'Is that a-'

You grab into it as your lower half slips off the precipice of the cliffside. It is indeed a dead branch- or more accurately, you grabbed onto the base of a dead bush. With only your torso on the side of the mountain, and so close to the top, you heave yourself up and choose to slowly climb onto a side path with less loose gravel.

'Fuck this path. How in the hell am I supposed to get up from here?!'
It's true-
You slipped from what appeared to be a seven foot fall onto a downwards sloped ledge that looked at least several yards long.
How the fuck will you get to the top?

There's a dark shadow as the sun comes up.

'Fuuuuck.. I can't let them find me.. they'll send me back to that stupid mental care treatment place..' You feel a shudder wreak your body, horrified at the thought. It wasn't that the physical place of the treatment facility bothered you-they just didn't let you have anything sharp. You NEEDED something sharp.. almost every week. You've used knives, scissors, razor blades from your shaving razor.. nothing is as easily maneuverable as your small boxcutter blade you had in your back pocket though. You have needed a blade at work when by the nightshifts by yourself-you don't dare try when there's another co-worker around. You would've been caught if you kept stealing the blades; so you started carrying a blade in your back pocket. Not the whole thing; just the blade part. The rest of it's too bulky to easily swivel letters into your skin.

Shaking your head from your scattered thoughts, you face your options.. hide in the shade, or be eventually found. You always joked about climbing this mountain to off yourself. Nobody but you found it funny.

'How long will it be before they figured out I'm gone?' you think as you make your choice.
You decide to hide in the shade..

Except it's not shade?? There's an.. entrance here. An enormous, yawning pit in the ground opens up before you. You look into it cautiously before snorting with laughter.

"The heck am I being careful for? This is.. this is.. p-perfect.." You grin even as tears start trailing down your cheeks. They catch on the raised skin of your cheek bones before speeding down the rest of your face, dripping off your chin.
You would miss them.

'But they deserve better.. I'm so tired.. I'm so sorry for ruining their lives with my.. uselessness. I can't even make them not worry anymore. They don't believe me when I s-smile and.. they.. they're better off without the likes of a lowlife like me,' you look down and to the side at that thought.

You would miss them.
You were scared.
You couldn't go back now..
Looking down at yourself, the sun casts half a shadow on you from the ledge of the precipice above.

You're absolutely littered in tiny cuts.. and.. is that.. some sort of cactus thing. Why is it in your hand?? You look down. And your legs?? Holy fuck it's a good thing you wore jeans. A short sleeved shirt doesn't matter if you're wearing flannel over it that's big enough to have the sleeves go to your finger tips.. right? So people don't see all your scars. But who the heck is gonna see your arms on a mountain and--...cactus pieces.. are stuck in the bottom of your flannel, near your waist. Cactus pieces. Like the little tiny hair looking things that get stuck in your skin and are really fine; and really fucking hard to see. And you're not anywhere near a desert! At least they're not really in your flannel as much as your jeans. Which means it was a bush-type plant.

'Like a cacabur or whatever the fuck they're called,' you think to yourself grumpily as you roll up your sleeves and take a look at your arms. You have a lovely blossoming purple bruise on your wrist. You must have popped a semi-important vein. It's only lavender now; but you suspect it'll be more of a royal purple before it fades to a blue or sickly-yellow color. You flip your hands over, giving them one last look before you force yourself to relax, pulling the cuffs of your sleeves down; more out of habit than anything else.

It was time.

Sure, you could do something dramatic; like opening your arms as you fall into the abyss, like welcoming darkness, your old friend..
But that isn't you.